by Jillian Dodd
With the outbreak of an unknown disease spreading throughout the world, we suggest that you stay in your home. Until we know more, avoiding contact seems to be the best form of protection. Both our behind-the-scenes connections and the news are telling us the same thing—the outlook is very grim. We do know that an announcement from the World Health Committee is imminent, acknowledging that they consider this to be an extinction-level event. We’d like to take a moment to thank each and every one of you for being a part of our organization and pray that we will meet again—whether at our next meeting or wherever is next for us all.
“That’s it?” I say. “This is bullshit. I’m done waiting. Intrepid and I are going to hunt down each of the remaining members of The Echelon. We’ll make them tell us how to stop this. You were tracking all the members. I want a list of their locations—starting with Maximillian and Rutherford. They are the leaders. Sergey and Zayn might not know the full plan, but I do know this: they know how to survive it.”
“That’s why I don’t think they are behind this,” Ares argues. “It’s not just them who would need to survive, but also The Society and their hundreds. They have offered nothing to their members. And you told me that Dupree said that Lorenzo was supposed to be king. How could they assure his survival if not through The Society?”
“I don’t know,” I say, slumping down in a chair. “But the timing is pretty suspect, being as today was the day a coup was supposed to have taken place.”
“We have something else to worry about,” Ares says, pulling up a map on the screen on the wall.
“More war ships?” I ask.
Intrepid nods. “Countries with high naval assets have moved into locations surrounding the country. You’re looking at American, Chinese, Japanese, Indian, Egyptian, and Iranian forces. If you didn’t know better, you’d think we were looking at World War Three. Even scarier is that North Korea has decided to get into the mix. They might kill us all before the disease can wipe us out if someone gets nervous and presses the wrong button.”
“Could one of those countries be behind it?” I ask as my phone rings. “Hang on, Lorenzo is calling.”
“I don’t have much time,” he says, “but I want you to leave Montrovia immediately.”
“But there’s a quarantine,” I argue.
“If anyone can sneak out of the country, it is you, Lee.”
“Why do you want me out?” I ask. “What’s happening?”
“War ships have surrounded us. They are threatening to wipe out the country to stop the spread of the disease.”
“They won’t do that,” I say. “They already have cases everywhere.”
“I’m just telling you what discussions are taking place. The death toll keeps climbing. I fear we have already lost. And North Korean forces have just arrived. We are on the brink of World War Three. Please know that, whatever happens next, I love you. And everything I have done and will do has been for you and my country,” he says and then hangs up on me.
I relay what Lorenzo just said to Intrepid and my father, tears filling my eyes.
“Our timeline is getting shorter,” Intrepid states.
“Look,” Ares says, nodding toward the television.
He turns up the volume, and we listen as the president of the United States somberly announces that his own wife has succumbed to the virus and reiterates what the World Health Committee just communicated—that this is an extremely dangerous disease. He also explains the military situation in Montrovia and what it could mean for our world. He hints that a rogue nation might be behind the disease and that, if that’s the case, they vow to find a cure and seek retribution.
“That’s just great. Like we need retribution at a time like this,” I say. “I’m headed to the hospital to check on everyone. In an hour from now, I’m sneaking out of this country to go find them. And, if you don’t want to go with me, Intrepid, that’s fine. I was trained to do this by myself.”
My father opens his mouth to speak, but I’m out of the room before he can argue with me.
In the United States, a few minutes after President Spear’s speech, a group is meeting in Washington behind closed doors. Vice President Harold Macklin has just signed a document stating that he believes President Ryan Spear is not fit to serve—citing the recent emotional trauma of the president losing his wife, being quarantined in another country, and possibly suffering from the disease himself. Now, he just has to wait for Congress to approve it, so he can become the acting president.
At the same time, President Ryan Spear is on the phone with the Joint Chiefs, who are discussing how to control the country in this time of crisis. Looting has started in the United States, and police and rescue personnel are becoming overwhelmed. They discuss a drastic plan of action should it become necessary.
“I can’t believe I’m going to give this speech,” Lorenzo states to those around him. He’s in a small conference room in the royal wing of the hospital. “I’ve only been king a short time.”
“Our country is at war,” the Prime Minister says, patting him on the shoulder like his father used to. “In times like these, the duty to control our armed forces lies with our king. As it has for centuries.”
“You were trying to change that,” Lorenzo counters.
“Yes,” the man says, lowering his head. “I see now, that was a mistake on my part. You have my support along with that of the full parliament from this moment forward. Politics don’t matter much right now. Our country’s survival is what does.”
“Thank you.”
Lorenzo’s press secretary points her finger toward the front of the room, which has been transformed into an area for the press conference.
He stands in front of a podium, and when the cameraman lets him know he’s live, he starts speaking, “My fellow countrymen and our Olympic guests, a great plague has descended onto Montrovia. One that doctors are working hard to find a cure for. You’ve been asked to stay in your homes.
“As of today, our military will be taking control of our streets, and our country’s borders have been closed. During this health crisis, we have been surrounded by naval forces from numerous countries, which are trying to determine if we should live or if they can stop this disease by dropping bombs that would destroy us all—” Lorenzo stops mid-sentence, leaving everyone who is watching wondering what’s going on.
A moment later, he is handed a single sheet of paper.
He holds his hand up to indicate that he needs a second, and as he scans the page, a smile spreads across his face.
When he looks up, he says, “Dr. Bracken, would you please tell the world of this news?”
A man in a white lab coat makes his way to the podium.
“I’m Dr. Bracken, head of the World Health Committee. I’ve been on-site here in Montrovia, working with our team. Early this morning, PureGen—a pharmaceutical research company—contacted us about a possible cure.
“It seems that, six years ago, one of their scientists discovered a disease—one so deadly that the company set about to stockpile enough supply so that, if it ever manifested, they could wipe it out. They sent a sample to us to confirm it is the same virus. We have just confirmed that it is. I should add that we have been told that the scientist who discovered the virus might have been compromised by a rogue group. One that probably caused what we now believe to be a bioterror attack on the Olympics. The scientist died recently under suspicious circumstances but not before receiving a large deposit of money. While PureGen assures us that their research facility is extremely secure, they believe the scientist might have stolen a test sample, which was then used to re-create the virus that was spread here in Montrovia.
“Shipments are currently being loaded onto planes, which will be flown to strategic locations around the globe. It will be up to each country to determine how best to administer the cure to each of their citizens, but it is imperative that each and every citizen take this vaccine, or the world as we know it—your country, you
r family, your world—will cease to exist.”
He nods to the camera and then moves out of the way, so Lorenzo can return to the podium.
“Thank you, Doctor,” he says. “We will be eagerly awaiting the shipment here in Montrovia. To my countrymen, I will be back with information on how we will administer these inoculations. Stay at home or in your hotel rooms and please, peacefully await our saving.”
When I get to the hospital, it’s even busier than last night. Sick people are sitting on the floor, leaning against the walls, family members surrounding them. The staff looks harried. Volunteers are handing out water, sandwiches, and over-the-counter pain relievers. I spot Chef Pierre Dassi coming out of a patient room.
“Huntley Von Allister,” he says to me.
“Mr. Dassi, it’s good to see you. Although not under the best of circumstances.”
“At least people are feeling more upbeat at the thought of a cure.”
“Yes, I imagine so.”
“Life is wonderful, even when faced with despair.”
“As long as the food is good?” I ask, noticing he’s got a bag filled with baguettes and other treats.
“I must do my part,” he says. “I’m sorry to hear of the First Lady’s passing.”
I lower my head. “Thank you.”
“Please give the family my condolences. And, if we all get through this, you must come to my restaurant to celebrate. We will be opening the wine I’ve been saving in my cellar for I don’t know what, but it is time to share it. And, if you are looking for a special chef to help with your wedding, you just call Dassi.” He hands me a business card.
“If I get married, you can be sure that I will,” I say, giving him a hug. “Can I help you?”
“But, of course,” he says, rushing to a trolley and grabbing a bag like his. “Take this. Break bread. Make friends. Share stories. It’s all we can do at this point besides pray.”
“Thank you. I will.”
I spend the next twenty minutes wandering the halls and handing out bread. Learning about each person who has been afflicted, hearing stories about those who have already passed, and getting hugs from complete strangers. It’s interesting how, when faced with death, differences cease to exist. People from every nation, of every color, and sexual preference mixed with young and old are here helping each other because this virus has affected us all without prejudice.
When my bag is empty, I pick up another and make my way to the royal suite, praying that everyone is doing okay. That no rashes have appeared.
But what I’m most worried about are these vaccines.
It just seems … too convenient.
I stop in the hallway, take out my phone, and do an internet search of the PureGen company. And, just as I suspected, it’s part of the pharmaceutical conglomerate owned by Marquis Dupree, an Echelon member who only recently had acquired eight nuclear backpack bombs in preparation for Montrovia’s fall.
I rush down the hall, stopping a few doors down from the royal suite, where I run into President Spear and Mike Burnes.
“Huntley,” the president says, “you’re about to witness history again.”
“What’s he talking about?” I ask Burnes as the president enters a room.
“Let’s go watch,” Burnes says, “but we must stay off camera.”
We go into the room, which has a podium with the presidential seal of the United States on the front, probably taken straight out of Air Force One.
“We’re live in three, two, one,” a single cameraman says.
“My fellow Americans,” the president says in greeting. “I’m here in Montrovia, seeing firsthand what this illness can do, how fast it’s spreading, and how fast loved ones are dying. We are witnessing a historic disease, the kind that, if it continues to ravage our world, it is expected to kill … well, almost everyone.
“And it’s not without great thought that I have chosen to do something that has never been done in the history of our country. In the history of our democracy. I am using my executive power to enact martial law.”
At that, I gasp, quickly covering my mouth. The debate over martial law is probably why Hillford Senior ordered the hit on his own son.
“I’m sure you are all shocked by this,” the president continues. “I know, when it was presented to me, I about fell off my chair.
“We are at war—not with another country, but rather an extinction event. Similar situations will be taking place in countries around the world. But, as you have probably heard, there is good news. We’ve discovered what we believe to be a cure in the form of a vaccine. This vaccine must be taken by all our citizens. Please stay where you are. National Guard and other military healthcare professionals will be going door to door. All Americans—and I repeat, all Americans—will be given the vaccine that will save your life. And this is important. You will have two choices: take the vaccine offered to you or be arrested and taken to quarantine, where you will await your death.
“As you can imagine, inoculating our population within a short period of time is a daunting task. Know that our military has been given shoot-to-kill orders in situations where there is civil unrest. If you want to spend your time looting, protesting, or getting in our way, there will be no arrests, no due process, and no trials. You will simply be shot.
“That concludes my speech. We’re sending you over to the White House, where our secretary of defense will be answering any further questions. I ask that all news outlets forget about politics and help us with this daunting task. May God bless you, the United States of America, and our entire world. May you all be cured.”
As he ends his speech, my mother’s words echo in my brain.“’Cause it’s The Cure. Something no one should want.”
I realize that she knew all along what was going to happen. It doesn’t matter they changed the way in which they spread the disease from poisoned grain to fireworks. What matters is she knew it wasn’t the cause of the disease that would kill everyone—it’s the cure.
And I have to convince everyone she was right.
I follow the president into the patient room where Daniel, Lizzie, Ari, and Allie are being cared for.
Lorenzo is also here, sitting by Lizzie’s bed.
“It’s not the cause, Lorenzo,” I say. “It’s the cure. Don’t you think it’s a little suspicious that they just happened to have a worldwide supply of vaccines for a virus no one has ever heard of?”
“We were told that Disease X was so deadly when it was discovered that they felt it was the only responsible thing to do,” Lorenzo states.
“And you believe them?” I ask, getting in his face. “This is one of Marquis Dupree’s companies we’re talking about.”
“I don’t have much of a choice at this point!” Lorenzo yells back at me in frustration. “People are dying! We’re on the brink of war!”
“And you know that something was supposed to start in Montrovia. In case you haven’t figured it out, this is it!” I throw my hands up in the air.
“Unless you have proof, I need you to back off, Huntley,” he says sternly.
“Yeah, give it a break,” Daniel says. “Who cares who has the cure? We all need it.”
“Everyone is so desperate that they are taking this company’s word that it will work. Has it been tested? Do you even know?”
“The World Health Committee—” Lorenzo starts.
“Which is funded in large part by Dupree’s pharmaceutical companies,” I fire back.
“Has declared it to work,” he says, hitting the bedside table with his fist in frustration. “Who am I to argue with the scientists?”
“The king who is going to save his country,” I reply.
“What are you talking about?” Mike Burnes asks me. “What do you know about Marquis Dupree?”
“I know that he was a member of a group of powerful men called The Echelon. I know that he is the one in Britain who had acquired the backpack nukes. I know that my father, Ares Von Allister, w
as part of the group, and their goal was to follow the Georgia Guidestones rules to reduce the population. I know that the group tried to take over Montrovia six years ago by backing a coup where Prince Alessandro was supposed to kill his brother, King Giovanni. And I know that one of your agents died while investigating it. I know that she figured out who was behind the coup. And I know that former president John Hillford, who was the leader of The Echelon at the time, ordered the hit on her because she’d told General Agueda what she knew instead of the king. And I know she was killed by the assassin known as The Priest.”
The director of the CIA’s mouth hangs open. “How do you know all that?”
“Because I’m Calliope Cassleberry!” I yell out in frustration. “The girl you never found.”
Mike Burnes studies me more closely, but I catch movement out of the corner of my eye.
Lorenzo stands up and gives himself a shot in the arm.
“Stop it, both of you,” he says, dropping the syringe into a waste receptacle.
I look at him in horror. “What did you just do?”
“PureGen sent a few doses of the vaccine early. I gave one to myself. I can’t give it to my people without first knowing what it will do.”
“But you aren’t even sick!” I exclaim.
He just shrugs at me and sits back down in the chair next to Lizzie’s bed.
“You realize that you just committed suicide,” I say to him.
I know this is it. They never could have gotten everyone sick, but make up a fake virus and have some people die, and then they truly control who gets killed off.
“This is bigger than all of us,” Lorenzo says softly.
“How could you do this? How many times have I saved your life?” I sputter out as tears flood my eyes, imagining a life without him. “And this is how you repay me?”
“I can explain,” he says as a nurse comes in to check on the patients.